


stay a while

by Fatale (femme)



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: M/M, Mutual Pining, Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-01-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:01:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22203001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/femme/pseuds/Fatale
Summary: “Come here,” Jaskier said softly, gathering up the front of Geralt’s clothes and tugging him closer. Geralt blinked those foreign, golden eyes a little owlishly, out of sorts. It was good, in a way, to know that Geralt felt just as unsure, just as wrong-footed about the situation, and it made something warm and tender blossom in Jaskier’s chest.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 111
Kudos: 1739
Collections: Abby's Witcher Collection, Best Geralt, wiedźmin





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i'm sorry. just let me write my porn with feelings and i'll get the hell outta your fandom. i know sweet fuck all about historical fiction, even silly made-up history, so forgive me for the (many) inaccuracies.

They were running low on funds once again because thought Geralt played at being heartless, he never could quite bring himself to demand payment from those who couldn’t afford it. They had enough coin left for a room for the night and a bit of food to get to the next town, which was better off than they’d been in the past. Over plates of a thick, hearty stew and cold beer, Geralt eyed the working women with something approaching disappointment. They were eyeing him right back, as were about half the tavern patrons, not that Geralt particularly noticed. He had a keen sense for threats but not appreciation, possibly because he so rarely encountered it.

Though the cut of his jaw was certainly attractive, his height appealing, Geralt wasn’t a traditionally _pretty_ man. But there was something about him, the self-containment, the utter stillness, that drew the eye. He was a man for whom time and the natural order held no mastery. He was also frighteningly sexy.

There was also that.

Sensing his moment of opportunity, Jaskier leaned closer and murmured, “You needn't look to them for satisfaction.”

After a jerk of surprise, Geralt turned to stare at him. By now, Jaskier knew Geralt well enough to know when he was considering something. His eyes, raking down Jaskier’s body, was a hot scrape that made him feel undressed already. Geralt had never looked at him quite this way before: assessing, interested, and it rankled a bit that being nearly flat-out broke and horny was the only reason Jaskier suddenly found himself on this unfamiliar end of Geralt’s attention, but he knew he would take it anyway. No use lying to himself about this, as much as he enjoyed bending the truth about everything else. Usually, it was enough to crouch it in poetic license, but he didn’t have that luxury now. Everything about the way Geralt was looking at him made it clear that if they did this thing, it would be fucking, plain and simple, if Jaskier wanted it that way. And Jaskier _wanted_.

He stood up fast enough for the chair to scrape harshly across the scarred wooden floor. He didn’t care how pathetically eager he looked as he tossed a handful of coins on the table from his dwindling stash and immediately headed for the room upstairs that they'd taken for the night.

Geralt came a few minutes later, surprisingly light-footed for someone so weighed down by years, and kicked the door closed behind him. Wordlessly, he began undoing his belt, his swords carefully leaned against the wall next to the bed – well within easy reach should he need it. Paranoid Witcher. No use pretending Jaskier wasn’t a little charmed, though.

“Come here,” Jaskier said softly, gathering up the front of Geralt’s clothes and tugging him closer. Geralt blinked those foreign, golden eyes a little owlishly, out of sorts. It was good, in a way, to know that Geralt felt just as unsure, just as wrong-footed about the situation, and it made something warm and tender blossom in Jaskier’s chest. He pulled Geralt closer and kissed him. Geralt let himself be moved, Jaskier had no illusions about that. He was not capable of making Geralt do anything he didn’t want to do and the thought made Jaskier bold as he licked the seam of Geralt’s lips, feeling him open beneath him. Jaskier dipped his tongue in, tasting him.

He tasted like death and hunts and something wild and uniquely Geralt. Just kidding, he mostly tasted like the beef stew he'd had for dinner and the sour aftertaste of beer.

It was a good kiss; the hot wet heat of Geralt’s mouth, his hips pressing close, growing harder against Jaskier. He broke the kiss, tugging at the hem of Geralt’s shirt and watched as he stepped back and slipped it up and over his head, his white-blond hair a glorious icy waterfall as it settled back over his shoulders.

Jaskier pulled off his clothes quickly. He was under no illusion that Geralt was going to lovingly undress him, he highly doubted Geralt did it for people he _actually_ loved.

The air cold and he shivered, a little embarrassed. He wasn’t normally shy about his body; it worked reasonably well and there weren’t the kind of expectations made of men’s bodies as women’s. They just had to be mostly functional and that was good enough. But looking at the sheer breadth of Geralt’s shoulders, the ridiculous latticework of his stomach, made Jaskier all the more aware of his mediocrity, his _plainness_.

“You’re well-formed,” Geralt murmured, eyes dipping low over Jaskier’s body. He reached out and ran his calloused hands over Jaskier's shoulders, smoothing them up his neck to cup his cheek, calloused fingers like sandpaper against his skin. “No scars.”

“Actually,” Jaskier said, trying to lighten the mood, “there was an incident with a pig farmer’s daughter and rose bush beneath the window that I didn’t see in the dark." He gestured towards the jagged scar on his upper thigh.

“Soft,” Geralt said, pulling him close.

“Yes,” Jaskier said, nearly hysterically, “compared to you, I am a soft young man.” He could feel Geralt’s cock hardening against him. Oh god, oh god, he’d propositioned his best friend and they were about to fuck, Jaskier thought, as the full weight of what he’d offered suddenly hit him. He’d thought of this exact scenario many times -- who could possibly look at Geralt and not imagine what it might be like to have him, even if only for one night? But it had always been an idle daydream, possibly because Jaskier had never imagined a world in which Geralt look at him, shrug, and say, "Hell, why not?"

The more Geralt kissed him, running his hand over Jaskier's back, his fingers following the knobs of his spine, the more apparent it became that if there was fucking to be had, Jaskier was going to have to initiate it. “Come on,” Jaskier urged, pulling Geralt back towards the bed and lowering him down. It was a plain room, mattress stuffed with hay, but it must have seen some history – lovers, friends, and many weary travelers unsure where their journey might end. Jaskier and Geralt were about to become all three, he supposed, reaching into the satchel earlier thrown carelessly on the bed to pull out a small bottle he'd procured some time back. He was thankful for it, or else they'd be fucking with spit and a prayer.

He sank down in between Geralt’s spread thighs, the wood hard and cold against his knees.

“Jas--” Geralt began, then drew his name out on a hiss as Jaskier lowered his mouth to the crown of Geralt’s hard, leaking cock. He sucked in the length of him with some amount of effort. It had been a while since he’d done this, but he thought Geralt wouldn't mind.

Jaskier blew him with more enthusiasm than skill. The hand that crept around and rested at the base of his skull was oddly tender as it rested there, rubbing circles through the back of his hair.

Finally, Jaskier pulled off and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. Geralt was still sprawled on the bed and looking stunned as Jaskier crawled up next to him, the bottle clutched in his right hand. “You can,” Geralt started, something raw and naked in those strange eyes as he bent his knee, pulling his leg up.

“Let me,” Jaskier said quickly and popped the stopper out. He reached behind himself, pushing his slicked-up fingers into himself slowly, first one and then a second. Geralt reached behind him, feeling where Jaskier was breaching his own body. “I want to see,” Geralt said, his already husky voice a full octave lower.

“I’m not giving you a show,” Jaskier said. But he could imagine it, Geralt carefully studying Jaskier fucking himself down on his own fingers, and he felt something clench up inside him at the thought.

“I need--" Geralt rasped.

“I've got you,” Jaskier said, pulling his fingers out and feeling back for Geralt's cock, taking the base and holding it steady so he could slowly lower himself. He had to blink to keep the sweat out of his eyes as he pushed himself down until he was fully seated.

“Fuck,” Geralt said. A light sheen of sweat had broken out over his incredible chest and Jaskier leaned forward, bracing himself against it as he raised himself up until Geralt nearly slipped out of him and then fucked himself down.

Geralt’s hands were resting around his hips, but he was being so careful not to bruise. Too careful.

“You can’t break me,” Jaskier said, his thighs already burning. It was a damn lie and they both knew it.

“Okay,” Geralt said, and he curled his hands around Jaskier and pulled him closer until they were nearly flush, and then rolled them both over until Geralt was pinning him against the bed, pressing his thighs open. He pulled back, then slammed home with enough force that it shoved the breath from Jaskier's lungs.

Well, he’d told Geralt he wasn’t delicate.

Geralt fucked into him steadily, grabbing hold of Jaskier's shoulders and pulling him down on his cock, his nose buried in the sweat-slick crook of his neck, breathing him in deeply.

“Jaskier, Jaskier,” Geralt mumbled like he was something special, something precious.

It wasn’t a thought that Jaskier could afford, so he said brightly, “Come on, big guy. Give me that cock.”

Geralt blinked down at him, looking baffled.

That was fair, sometimes Jaskier just said the dumbest shit. Jaskier wriggled a little and with a grunt, Geralt began fucking him in earnest again, angling his hips just enough to hit that spot inside Jaskier, a rhythmic nudge that he fully intended to ride towards an orgasm. He closed his eyes, concentrating on the sweet burning glide of Geralt’s cock moving in and out of him, the smell of sweat and leather and straw, the sparks behind his eyelids every time Geralt drove his cock in harder. His legs trembled and his toes curled as he felt his orgasm build. He reached down blindly towards his own cock when Geralt mumbled, “I’m going to come inside you, fill you all up,” and with a shout, Jaskier came hard enough to see stars.

Well, he was learning all kinds of things about himself.

Jaskier felt wrung out, exhausted. Geralt had slowed down and Jaskier made a “have at it” motion with his hands, and Geralt leaned in close, fucking him fast and hard until he buried himself to the hilt and came with a shudder against him.

“There you go,” Jaskier said soothingly, combing his fingers through Geralt’s shockingly soft hair.

“Hmmm,” Geralt said, cock slipping free and eyes closing as his breathing slowed, his head pillowed against Jaskier’s chest.

“Hey, hey,” Jaskier said, poking him. “Don’t fall asleep here.” Geralt was too heavy for Jaskier to sleep comfortably beneath his weight.

“I’ll leave,” Geralt said, already sitting up and sounding resigned.

Earlier, he’d been blunt with Geralt in a way that he almost never managed with himself. But here, sated and on the edge of sleep, he could ask for what he really wanted: “No, stay here. With me. Stay.” He could feel Geralt watching him, but he didn’t dare open his eyes until he felt the bed shift and Geralt laid down beside him, knees tucked up behind his, arms stealing around his waist.  
  
“Are you sure?” Geralt asked.

Jaskier reached down and threaded his fingers through Geralt’s, feeling them tighten in surprise against his own. “Hmm,” Jaskier said and fell asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come find me on twitter @fatalewrites and answer my important questions: https://twitter.com/fatalewrites/status/1218255107583889412

Jaskier woke up in bed alone, which didn’t surprise him all that much.

What did surprise him was that Geralt was still in the general vicinity. He’d kind of assumed Geralt would wake up, realize what a horrible mistake he’d made, and immediately set sail for another continent.

Instead, Geralt was sitting in a plain chair, reading a letter whilst completely naked.

Jaskier rubbed his eyes. “Not that I’m complaining, but what _are_ you doing?”

Geralt glanced up, though he must have heard the minute Jaskier awoke. “This was pushed under the door last night.”

“You didn’t hear it?”

Geralt looked at Jaskier wryly. “I was a little distracted.” He stood and crossed the room. “Get up,” he said, swatting at Jaskier’s thigh.

Jaskier sighed into his pillow. It wasn't like he thought he was going to ride Geralt’s cock into the sunset, but he’d at least expected – what, acknowledgment? Something. Jaskier rolled out of bed and pulled on his trousers, ready to face the morning and whatever it might bring.

\---

He could tell Geralt kept sending him sidelong glances; Geralt was a man built for killing monsters, not subtlety.

“Do I have something on my face?” Jaskier eventually said, trudging behind the horse.

Geralt slowed his pace but didn’t answer.

Bringing an oversized lute might have been a mistake. It was good for small towns and making coin by singing bawdy tavern songs, but on this long stretch of road, he might as well have an organ strapped to his back for all the good it was doing him. Jaskier grunted, shoulders hunched, and adjusted the strap across his aching shoulders.

Wordlessly, Geralt leaned down and scooped him up.

“Argh!” Jaskier yelled in a brave and masculine fashion, hanging onto the back of the horse for dear life. He managed to get mostly upright and looped his arms around Geralt’s alarmingly trim waist. “Not that I’m complaining but what brought this on?”

“Do you want to walk?”

“No,” Jaskier answered.

“Mmmm,” Geralt said. “Be quiet, hang on.”

And wasn’t what Jaskier had been doing since they met? He managed to stay quiet for a few minutes before he started humming.

He felt Geralt stiffen in his arms. “That’s a song from Lyria.”

“I know that, I’m a bard.”

“My mother used to hum that, I think,” Geralt said, quietly. It made sense, Lyria was a straight road to Rivia in the south of the continent. Geralt rarely talked about his mother, though, and Jaskier understood that it was a concession for him to speak of her now.

“I can stop if you want.”

“No, it’s fine. It’s just been a long time since I’ve heard that song.”

\--

Eventually, they came to a stop at the wide mouth of a river. It was nearly dusk, the sun setting, melting into wispy swathes of pink and purple. “This is very romantic,” Jaskier said, looking around.

“Yes,” Geralt agreed, “there’s a monster that’s been eating people in the area.”

“Ah,” Jaskier sighed, dismounting from the horse, “of course there is.”

Geralt had already slung his pack against a log out of the way and was poking around the underbrush with one of his swords.

Jaskier sat on the bank, eating a handful of peanuts he’d swiped from the tavern last night, and watched him. He figured this was Geralt’s gig, just as he wouldn’t want Geralt to join in singing in taverns in the evenings. He suspected Geralt would be a dreadful singer.

“What do you see?” Geralt called back.

“Uh, water?” Jaskier hazarded. He looked back at Geralt’s horse, a dark mare with soulful eyes. “Do you think this is a rhetorical question?”

“But what is the water doing?” Geralt asked.

“Nothing.” Jaskier threw a peanut shell into the water, watching it disrupt the surface for a second.

“Exactly.”

“I’m missing something, aren’t I?” Jaskier said finally, getting up to come closer to the bank where Geralt was poking his sword into the water. He desperately hoped this wasn’t Geralt’s idea of fishing. If so, he was going about it entirely the wrong way. He brushed off the back of his trousers and stood next to Geralt and peered into the water.

“The truth is always somewhere between what people tell you and what you can observe.”

“How delightfully pessimistic you are.” But he felt uneasy. He knew that the answer was right beneath the brackish surface, but he couldn’t quite place it. “Why isn’t the river flowing?”

“Exactly,” Geralt said grimly and raised his sword. Hooked on the tip was a bridle with symbols roughly etched into the surface. "Kelpie."

"One of those evil horses?"

"Not evil, not really. Someone dammed up the river, trapped it, then tried to force it into servitude." His eyes were narrowed, mouth pulled down. For all that Geralt had incredible senses, he always seemed just a little surprised when he found out just exactly how terrible people could be.

"Fuck," Jaskier said. 

"Now it can't get free and it just keeps getting angrier and angrier."

What would it be like to be trapped with people who despised you but still wanted to use you for personal gain? He looked over at Geralt and didn’t think he had to use his imagination.

“What are you going to do?” Jaskier asked solemnly. “It _is_ still eating people.”

“I'll take care of it,” Geralt said, sheathing his sword.

\---

Though Geralt was the focal point of most of the concern in his life, the cause of almost all his indigestion, Jaskier wasn’t concerned about him, per se. A world without Geralt was practically unimaginable, so he didn’t allow himself to imagine it. He had finished unpacking their rolls and setting up a place to stay for the evening, cleaned and fed Roach.

He was just getting up and grabbing the net, considering some kind of manual labor, for which he would no doubt be very poor when there was a splash and Geralt came staggering from the river, an impressive cut across his forehead.

Jaskier jumped up. “My darling!”

Geralt shot him an incredibly dirty, exhausted look.

“You’ve got a spot of blood on your lovely brow.” Without thinking, Jaskier tore a piece from the bottom of his shirt and dabbed at his face.

Geralt looked taken aback. “Lovely,” he repeated to himself, his mouth pulled into a soft moue of displeasure.

“It is very appealing,” Jaskier murmured, still dabbing at his face, “among other things.”

They were standing too close and Jaskier was violating the strange truce they had settled in: they fucked, but they didn’t acknowledge it in any real way.

When he’d made the offer, Jaskier thought it was going to be fucking, simple and uncomplicated. But Geralt was hardly simple, though he liked to pretend otherwise, and sex between friends was never uncomplicated. Jaskier let his hands drop. “Are you hungry? We’ve got old bread, dried meat, and some stolen nuts.”

Geralt’s dark eyebrow quirked. “Do I want to know?”

“Probably not,” Jaskier answered easily. He shook his remaining peanuts in his pocket menacingly. “Let me start a fire and you can go wash up.”

At his questioning look, Jaskier said irritably, “I know how to start a fire. I’m not completely useless.”

Geralt had the grace to look a little sorry. “Never said you were.” He hovered for a few seconds, looking like he wanted to say something, then thought better of it. He shook his head before he ambled back into the woods.

Astonishing. Geralt was, on occasion, incredibly awkward. The only reason people tended to miss it was because they were too distracted by the squareness of his jaw. Jaskier gathered enough kindling and firewood to get started. He was so preoccupied that he didn’t notice Geralt come up until water dripped onto his hands and he looked up to see Geralt, half-undressed and holding a couple of clearly dead rabbits.

“Yeah, I’m not going to skin those.” He struck his knife against the edge of flint again. The kindling just started smoking and Jaskier was feeding small bits of kindling in slowly as the flame took.“I will eat them later after they no longer resemble adorable forest creatures.”

“Your fire looks good.”

The sheer indignation at Geralt's surprise was somewhat muted by the warm glow of satisfaction at his praise and the fact that Geralt's hair, normally fairly neat even while fighting, was now loose about his shoulders, so white that it almost looked silver in the fading sun. He hadn’t bothered to put his shirt back on.

“Urg,” Jaskier said eloquently, trying and failing not to ogle Geralt’s bare chest.

He watched as Geralt skinned the rabbits with neat and efficient movements, setting up a crude spitroast above the fire.

“What happened with the kelpie?”

“I broke up the dam.”

He already knew that. Jaskier had noticed the water started flowing hours ago, the sickly stagnation clearing as if it had never been. “And?”

“And I told the kelpie that it was no longer trapped. It could go back to the sea.”

“So it’s free?”

“No, I killed it,” Geralt said, staring into the crackling fire. Fat dripped off the roasting meat and hissed as it hit the flames.

Jaskier couldn’t say why his stomach dropped, but it did, leaving him feeling shaky and sick. “Why?”

Geralt looked at him. “It had been trapped and alone for so long that it could no longer tell friends from enemies. It no longer knew _how_ to be free, and it did not understand kindness.”

They were standing on the edge of a great precipice, and he needed to choose his words wisely. “But you’re not a trapped kelpie.”

“No, I’m a witcher.”

“You’re a man,” Jaskier corrected gently, “no matter what else you may be, no matter what else other people may have told you.”

When the food was done cooking, Geralt took the rabbits off, slicing through the tender meat and dividing it into two equal portions. It looked delicious except for the lumpy dark shape piled on top. Geralt followed Jaskier’s gaze and said, “It’s the heart.”

“Yes, but _why_?”

“It’s good for you.”

Jaskier ate it under Geralt's watchful gaze. As expected, it was absolutely dreadful, inexplicably rubbery with an aftertaste uncannily like some poor simple fool who ate organ meat to trick his best friend into falling in love with him.

“It's great,” Jaskier lied as his stomach made an unpleasant little lurch. Sweat broke out above his upper lip and he gritted his teeth together, determined not to be sick all over the ground.

Geralt nodded and went back to his own food, leaving Jaskier’s gut roiling and his thoughts even more confused. They had eaten together under many circumstances, the vast majority of them pants-shittingly frightening, but Geralt had never before presented him with organ meat like some kind of prize, and damned if Jaskier knew what had changed.

\---

Jaskier banked the fire down low while Geralt kicked dirt leaves over any trails that led to their site. No use attracting predators.

Jaskier pulled his boots off and spread out on a blanket, ready to finally sleep. He nearly jumped out of his skin when Geralt laid down next to him, sighing softly. Oh, he guessed this was just something they did now. He turned his head just as Geralt pressed a kiss to his neck and – oh, _oh_. Something amazing and terrible just occurred to him.

“Oh my god, are you trying to be _nice_ to me?” He rolled over to face Geralt. “Is this you trying to _court_ me?”

He had never seen the expression on Geralt’s face so it took him a full moment to recognize it: it was puzzlement mixed in with a healthy dose of embarrassment. Well, he supposed this bizarre mating ritual was less about them being friends beforehand and more about Geralt not knowing how to handle _any_ relationship not based on mistrust or currency.

“You’re so stupid,” Jaskier said tenderly. “Come here.” He kissed him deeply, concentrating on the slick slide of their lips, the feel of Geralt pressed close to him.

Geralt broke the kiss and eagerly pulled Jaskier’s shirt up.

“I don't know if this is the best place for this. There’s a rather large stick poking me in the bottom,” Jaskier complained, struggling to concentrate while Geralt was licking broad stripes over his nipples.

“I’ve got another stick for your bottom,” Geralt said, his eyes creased in amusement. He was so rarely genuinely amused that Jaskier was too momentary taken aback to be suitably outraged at the terrible pun.

The glimmer of amusement made him look younger, though nothing about him ever really changed. Geralt wore his years like a shroud, cutting him off from the rest of the world. But now that the veil was lifted, however momentary, Jaskier found himself yearning to see this side of Geralt again even before the moment had fully passed.

“Good on you, you made a little funny,” Jaskier managed to choke out. Geralt scowled at him. Ah, there was a more familiar expression. Jaskier wound a strand of Geralt’s hair around his hands and gently tugged him closer.

Jaskier’s breath caught as Geralt kissed his way down the line of Jaskier’s throat letting his teeth scrape against his Adam's apple. God, that was hot.

Geralt slid his calloused hands down, down over Jaskier’s hips, down along his thighs. Jaskier let his head fall back, his eyes sliding shut. Geralt tugged his trousers down, nosing along his stomach, the join of his legs and groin, pressing hot open-mouthed kisses over every inch of revealed skin.

“Mmm,” Geralt said and Jaskier bit his knuckle to keep from laughing.

He'd thought about this and fantasized about this more times than he could count, but to actually be here with Geralt breathing on his cock, his stubble a gentle scrape across the inside of his thighs – Jaskier bit his fist for entirely different reasons.

Geralt’s hands were restless, wandering all over Jaskier’s body, smoothing over the flat planes of his stomach, the sharp jut of his hip. It was like he was a cartographer mapping an unknown land with the tips of his fingers. Finally, he reached down for Jaskier’s leg, pushing it up and out of his way. Eyes still closed, Jaskier waited for the slow press and burn of Geralt’s fingers inside him, but it didn’t come. And he nearly jumped out of his body when he felt the hot press of Geralt’s tongue against his ass.

Geralt was either unfamiliar or simply didn’t give a shit about the common laws of courtesy, ie give a man some warning before you put your tongue anywhere expected. Most likely, it was a winning combination of not knowing _and_ not caring on Geralt’s part, but Jaskier couldn't bring himself to object. The way his tongue was flickering against that small furl of skin was making Jaskier sweat in places that he didn’t know he could.

“Oh, fuck,” he _yelled_ and rocked back onto his tongue as well as he could with the little leverage Geralt had left him, that crafty _bastard_.

He didn’t know if he was relieved or disappointed when Geralt pulled out, pressing a soft kiss to his hip.

Neither. Both. Oh, who the fuck knew?

Geralt didn’t give him any time t consider the conundrum. He scooted down his body, grabbed the base of Jaskier’s cock – red, leaking, aching – and sucked him in slowly, firmly, backing off a little bit before sliding down another half an inch. By the time he’d taken Jaskier all the way down, Jaskier was shaking all over, nerves frayed to hell.

He slid his tongue over the tip of Jaskier’s cock, then sucked him back down, over and over again.

Jaskier thumped his head against the ground. One hand slid up Jaskier’s thigh to cup his balls as Geralt sped up. Jaskier desperately grabbed at Geralt’s shirt, his hair, but Geralt took him all the way down and swallowed repeatedly, and Jaskier let himself go, overtaken by a shivery wave of pleasure, his world narrowing down to the hot wet pressure of Geralt’s mouth around him.

Geralt pulled off with a wet sound while Jaskier sucked great lungfuls of air in, trying to catch his breath.

To his great credit, Geralt held still for about fifteen minutes before he began to get impatient, rubbing his groin impatiently against Jaskier’s hip. Light, just enough to get friction. Jesus, Jaskier muzzily realized, he was trying to be a _gentleman_. Jaskier was a little touched that he made the effort.

He wasn’t quite up to putting things in his body and a half-assed handjob seemed like poor recompense after that truly _spectacular_ blowjob. “Come here,” Jaskier said, voice husky, and grabbed Geralt’s arm to pull him on top of himself.

“You don’t have to --”

“Shut up, I’ve got it. Just – here, let me." He licked his palm and reached down to cup Geralt, slicking it up and nestling it between his thighs. Geralt’s hands, on either side of Jaskier’s chest, fisted the blanket in a white-knuckled grip. He groaned when Jaskier squeezed his legs close, experimentally clenching his muscles, tightening around Geralt’s cock.

“Good?” He kept himself tight around Geralt, enjoying the unfamiliar slick slide of his cock so close to his, the feel of his warmth around him. Geralt groaned, thrusting in between the space of his thighs, losing himself to the rhythm of it, the cool night air punctuated by crickets.

Jaskier could feel it building around him, like a physical thing, this tenuous feeling that they could be something more if only he would open himself up to it. What did he have to lose, really? Other than a little dignity and his heart? It seemed a small price to pay to see Geralt grin, warm and easy, the lines of exhaustion he always carried momentarily erased.

Geralt gasped into his neck. “Come on,” Jaskier urged. “C’mon, let go for me.”

Geralt thrust deep a few times, then spilled in between his legs, panting into Jaskier’s ear while Jaskier rubbed small, soothing circles on his back.

When he thought Geralt had fallen asleep, Jaskier pulled his fingers through Geralt’s long, tangled hair. “I know I make jokes about you being the bastard by-blow of a yeti, but I think your hair is glorious.”

Geralt startled him by shifting in his arms and raising himself up enough to look down at Jaskier. His eyes caught the moonlight and glowed for a second. “It’s the product of--”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Jaskier interrupted, “but it’s part of you now. I get that you’re a witcher and slaying monsters is just what you do, but no one makes you save people for free. There's no one to tell you when to try to free something instead of killing it. It’s all part of you now regardless of its circumstances.”

Geralt looked down at him for a long minute, seemingly baffled and a little surprised by what he saw.

There was something to be said about it, the peculiar agony of lying still while someone pulled you back, layer by layer, peering into deepest parts of you.

Finally, Geralt said, “Your singing is not like a fruitless pie.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Geralt said. “It’s like…a pie full of meat.”

“Meat,” Jaskier huffed. “Meat? You think my singing is like _meat_? I couldn’t have even been a succulent strawberry pie? A tarty rhubarb?”

“I _like_ meat,” Geralt said defensively, “it has more – substance than fruit. If you were starving, would you rather have a strawberry or a thick cut of meat?”

All this time, Jaskier had been thinking of them as friends by circumstance, lovers by happenstance, trapped in a world that didn’t know quite what to do with either of them as sure as any kelpie or any number of other beasts, but the truth was that road went both ways and they didn’t have to travel it together. They kept choosing each other, over and over again. Geralt kept choosing him. 

Jaskier could handle being a meat pie, he supposed. So long as it was with Geralt.

“I see,” Jaskier said evenly, and finally, he really did.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for the kind comments. i appreciate all the love you showed this newbie. xx

Jaskier was working on plucking out a melody stuck in his head when a portly man sitting atop a beleaguered horse cantered up. “The Butcher of Blaviken?” 

“Who wants to know?” Geralt grunted from where he was crouched next to the embers of a dying fire. Wispy strands that had escaped his comb earlier fell forward, obscuring most of his face. Although certainly lovely and flattering, Jaskier really thought an updo, like a sweet little bun, would be far more appropriate for fighting – Jaskier’s mind finally processed the words and skidded to a halt. 

Jaskier knew Geralt hated that moniker, and he wondered darkly who the hell would address a letter to Geralt that way. He readied himself for a fight. He doubted he could do much damage but he sure could deliver a stinging diatribe.

“The Lady Yennefer.”

“She may be a woman, but she’s no lady,” Jaskier said, setting his lute aside angrily.

Geralt scowled at him and elbowed Jaskier in the side, then cleared his throat. “The loud-mouthed one isn’t wrong.”

“Her husband would beg to disagree--” the man said.

“ _Husband_?” Geralt asked. Jaskier rarely saw him surprised, but he looked like a dragon had just descended from the sky wearing a dress and propositioned him. It made Jaskier feel some kind of way that he didn’t much want to examine too closely.

“--were he still alive, God rest his soul.”

“Ah,” Jaskier said, “that makes more sense.”

“A letter for the Butcher,” he said, holding out a piece of wax-sealed parchment. 

Jaskier cut in front of Geralt and snatched the letter. He wouldn't let Geralt answer to that name if he could help it. He handed it to Geralt and turned his back to the man, didn’t relax until he heard the hoofbeats through the leaves and hard-packed dirt signifying his retreat.

Geralt had already opened the letter and was scanning the contents. He looked up at Jaskier. “We need to go see Yen.”

“Oh, good,” Jaskier said before he could stop himself, “we’re going to see your beautiful and mysterious ex-lover.”

“She’s not here,” Geralt said.

Looked like today was state the obvious day, Jaskier thought sourly.

“You’ve nothing to worry about."

“Worried, who said I was worried?” Jaskier asked. It was even true. He wasn’t worried, he was _terrified_. Geralt talked about her in the same wistful voice that he sometimes did his mother. Like he loved them, but that love had cost him dearly. She was another woman who hadn’t wanted him, either. It kind of baffled Jaskier that anyone could look at Geralt and not want him, but the fact that Geralt accepted it as his due made Jaskier physically ache.

Didn’t mean he wasn’t also jealous as hell, though. “Don’t try to pretend like this isn’t a big deal,” he said, “I know you like them mouthy and crazy.”

“Yennefer and I did not part on good terms,” Geralt said shortly like it was still a thing he grieved. 

Jaskier noticed he did not deny the crazy part. “Is she still on a quest to have a baby?” Perhaps that’s why she summoned Geralt. 

Geralt looked hard at him. “How did you know about that?”

“You talk in your sleep.” Geralt looked discomfited, and Jaskier continued, “Seriously. You probably talk more in one night than you do in a month while awake.”

Geralt was too proud to ask about what else he said in his sleep -- it was mostly baffling commentary about food -- and Jaskier laughed quietly to himself, resigned to his fate.

\---

It was a regrettably short journey, Yennefer currently residing in the next town over, the lady of a minor lord that tragically died shortly after marriage to his beautiful young bride. By all accounts, he was terrible, and Yennefer did the people of small town a favor. But even though she’d saved his life, Jaskier refused to be grateful. It might be petty, but Jaskier had very little else to call his own.

The lady herself met them at the front courtyard through the main gate.

It was an _okay_ castle, Jaskier thought, as far as castles went. “How many men did you ensnare for this?” Jaskier asked, looking around.

“All of them,” Yennefer answered, her mouth curling into a secretive smile. 

That was true enough, she certainly seemed to hold Geralt in her thrall. Geralt got off the horse, then held a hand out to help Jaskier off, sliding his hand down to the small of his back while Jaskier adjusted the strap on his lute just to have something to do other than watch Geralt moon over Yennefer.

“There’s something that’s been killing a swathe through the city.” Her gaze lingered on Geralt’s hand, then she looked away. “I can tell you where the last attack happened but I think it’s already moved on.” She led them inside, though another smaller courtyard. “I can put you up for tonight. Might as well rest before tracking it.”

“Appreciated,” Geralt said, “but I’d like to go to the site now.”

“Rest afterward then. If it follows the same pattern it has, then it'll take a few days rest before hitting the next village. It’s not going to do you any good to fight it exhausted.”

Geralt nodded. “Then we’ll be back later this evening.”

“Jaskier should stay,” Yennefer said, curling her hand around Jaskier’s arm. 

“Buh?” Jaskier said elegantly.

“Think of it as insurance that you’ll be back," Yennefer said.

A muscle in Geralt's jaw twitched, and Jaskier finally had pity on him. "Go, go," he said, waving his free arm. "I'll just be here." He looked back at Yennefer, who met his gaze with a frank and assessing stare. "I'll be...fine?"

Geralt nodded toward Jaskier uneasily, then mounted Roach, gathering the reins tightly in his hands. He kicked his heels in. At the entrance to the courtyard, he looked back over his shoulder one last time. It was a little regretful, and Jaskier thought that all lost loves must have been a little like that – the love didn't magically leave just because things didn’t go quite as you’d hoped.

Yennefer waited until the last of the hoofbeats disappeared before she led him into the main room filled with half a dozen long tables, and two chairs set before a roaring fire in a large stone hearth. “So,” Yennefer said, taking a seat and eyes impassive, “You are together.” It was not a question. Her dress was draped over her bosom in a very distracting manner and Jaskier averted his eyes.

Were they together? That was one word for this weird quorum they had inadvertently stumbled into.

“We travel together,” he allowed. He wasn’t ready to put a name to whatever else they may be.

“I did wonder,” she said, staring into the fire nearly the same shade of Geralt’s eyes, “when I first met the two of you--”

“We weren’t anything--” Jaskier interrupted, surprised. He didn’t even think they were _friends_ then, let alone whatever they are now. Traveling companions that had sex and spooned occasionally, apparently. 

Her eyebrows were raised. “You were friends.”

Jaskier shook his head miserably.

She threw her head back and laughed. There was something wonderfully _alive_ about it, and for the first time, Jaskier could understand what drew Geralt to her, beyond her beauty. “Do you imagine that he offers _anything at all_ to save people who aren’t his friends?”

“He would do that for anyone,” Jaskier argued, even while he was unsure. 

She studied her nails and the fire cast shadows over her face, throwing her incredible cheekbones into stark relief. “He cares a great deal about the world in a general way, and very few specifically.” She looked up at him and Jaskier felt pinned into place by her stare. “I’ll still be here and so will he when you’re no more than dust in the ground. Maybe he'll still be alive then; witchers have lived longer. And maybe then it’ll be our time.” She dropped her eyes and smoothed out the skirts of her dress. They were a velvety dark red, the color of old blood. “But you needn’t be afraid. Our time is not now.”

His hands, which he had not been aware were gripping the armrests so tightly, loosened fractionally.

She raised an eyebrow. “Unless you'd be interested in a third joining you?”

He didn’t know what expression he wore, but she laughed again and said, “No, I wouldn’t want to share him if I had him either.”

But you did have him, Jaskier thought. You did have him and decided you didn’t want him. That probably wasn’t fair; Yennefer simply wanted herself more, and Jaskier couldn’t fault her for it. If Jaskier had met Geralt at any time other than when he did, he might have been the same. After all, he walked away from his easy, pre-planned life for this life on the road. Sometimes the right people found each other at the wrong time. And sometimes the timing was just right.

In the hearth, the fire crackled, casting odd shadows across the rough-hewn stone walls. In another life, this might have been his home. But he had learned that home could be more than stone walls and staircases, it could be journeys, and it could be people. He thought of Geralt, traveling alone on that lonely road, and wished he had gone with him, despite what he'd said. Geralt never seemed to do what was best for himself, anyway.

The sun had gone down, and Jaskier found himself drowsing in the chair. When he jerked awake for the third time, he said, surprisingly a bit regretful, “I should probably go to bed.”

“Geralt got back an hour ago,” Yennefer said. “I think he’s waiting for you.”

\---

He found Geralt standing in his room, staring into the fire. He was still dressed in his leather armor, sword at his back. It did not escape Jaskier’s notice that he was dressed for a fight. “Did you find what you were looking for?” Geralt said, like he had not been the one the road, searching.

“I think so,” Jaskier answered. After all, here was Geralt, waiting for him.

Jaskier crossed the room, feeling sleepy, settled. He touched Geralt’s arm, pulling him back against his chest. Geralt was stiff for a moment and Jaskier waited, patiently, for him to realize that he wasn’t here to fight; he was here to stay. Jaskier thought it had probably been a long time since Geralt had let himself lean on another person, possibly because no one had before offered.

“Tired?” Jaskier asked, undoing the buckles and laces that kept his studded leather armor on. It was slow work, doing it one-handed, but they didn’t have anywhere more pressing to be, and the pieces hitting the stone floor with loud clanks were so satisfying, especially as more of Geralt was slowly revealed. It was like unwrapping a gift, and Jaskier _was_ thankful. He kissed his thanks into the crook of Geralt’s neck.

“Will you love me when I’m old and feeble?” Jaskier murmured, half-joking, half bracing himself for a denial.

“That’ll never happen,” Geralt said, sounding tired, “something will definitely kill me before you die of old age.”

“You’re all romance,” Jaskier teased. He undressed him slowly, kissing each inch of new skin until Geralt was stripped bare. Jaskier eased him down in front of the fire, dragged a fine woven blanket down off the impressive bed, ignoring the bolster that went rolling off into the corner of the room. “Sleep?”

“Hm,” Geralt said, raking a hand through Jaskiers hair, eyelids heavy. Geralt always touched him so carefully. Jaskier couldn’t ever remember anyone being that careful with him; maybe that was why he’d learned to be careful with himself. Geralt tugged him down for a kiss, mouth hot and open. 

There was an awkward moment of fumbling after that, Jaskier not entirely sure where he was supposed to be or what he was supposed to be doing. Geralt was so big, and so _solid_ , so sure. Jaskier wanted some of that surety for himself, but he didn’t think he was designed in quite that way. That was the reason he couldn’t quite seem to settle down, maybe – there was a part of him that was always searching, always on the move.

“Why did you look back?” Jaskier asked. “Earlier, when you left. Were you looking at her or at me?”

Geralt frowned. “Does it matter?”

He supposed it didn’t really. After all, Geralt was here, with him.

“How do you stay in the moment and not look to the past,” Jaskier asked curiously, studying the lines of Geralt’s face. Shit fuck, it must be just his luck to be constantly surrounded by people that looked shockingly beautiful by firelight. 

It seemed that lately, all Jaskier could do was look back and wonder what if. He wasn't sure he could have handled a couple of lifetimes of regret. He had enough for this one.

Geralt paused, watching his blunt fingers trace invisible lines over Jaskier’s chest, across his clavicles. Then he said, “I have you.”

“I suppose you do,” Jaskier said, lacing their fingers together.

Geralt eventually ended up on the mattress, a luxurious feather-stuffed thing that made Geralt groan in pleasure. Jaskier mindlessly massaged the knots out of his back, his mind already racing ahead to compose a song in his head about Geralt's noble escapades. Jaskier wouldn’t rest until the rest of the world appreciated what Geralt had done for them -- mostly in the name of beer and coin and women -- but he would leave that part out. Jaskier felt himself smile a little ironically. For all that Geralt was a fierce and beautiful man, he should have heeded his own wisdom: Geralt was just a man. As flawed and occasionally ridiculous as they came.

He felt a great swell of tenderness as he kicked off his clothes, spread out next to Geralt's warm body, felt the press of all that bare skin against his own. 

Geralt turned his head, probably hearing Jaskier's heart speed up. He leaned over and kissed him, pulling Jaskier closer and on top. 

For a moment, Jaskier was sure Geralt wanted him to ride him or was asking for one of his patented mediocre blow jobs, but he was nestled in between Geralt's knees when he remembered the first time they did this, when Geralt had offered what Jaskier didn't quite know how to take. What he was afraid to take, convinced that one day he would be just another name Geralt sometimes called out in his sleep

He was ready now.

He reached down and touched Geralt, rubbing slow circles over his thighs, down behind him to his ass. He reached into his bag and grabbed some of his oil, slowly worked his fingers into Geralt's body, watching the rapid rise and fall of his chest, the sweat that gathered in the dip of his breastbone, at his temples.

“That’s enough,” Geralt said, pushing back impatiently.

“Can’t have been,” Jaskier protested.

“I can handle pain,” Geralt said, eyes screwed shut.

“This isn’t supposed to be painful, you absolute walnut.” Jaskier bent low and kissed the inside of Geralt’s scarred knee where the skin was raised and white and puckered. Something had injured him so badly that it must have cut to the bone. Sometimes on cold days, he still limped a little. No matter how well witchers healed, some things still left a mark. “It’s okay to want it gentle.”

“I--" Geralt said, sounding confused.

And there it was again, that feeling of being on a precipice, a great door that opened to something beyond what they were now. “Shut up and let me take care of you,” Jaskier said. That Geralt could take care of himself, he had no doubt. But that didn’t mean that he should always have to.

He raised up, kissed his way down Geralt’s chest, blowing him a little in between fucking him open on his fingers slowly until Geralt was shaking with it. Jaskier loved the way the sweat shone over his body, the way he turned his face away and bit his lip, his eyebrows drawn and intent. Maybe Jaskier should, like, tell him or something. He waited until Geralt was moaning and loose around his fingers, fingers bunched in the blanket beneath them before Jaskier grabbed the base of his cock, slicked himself up, and pressed in slowly, Geralt’s breath coming in little sharp pants. Jaskier rested a hand on his chest, surprised to feel Geralt’s heartbeat speeding, nearly beat for beat matching his own.

“You feel so good,” Jaskier said, and all manner of stupid shit, anything to see Geralt still, head tilted, listening carefully, beads of moisture clinging to his long dark eyelashes. “Hey, look at me,” Jaskier said, “I know this wasn’t what you wanted, what you envisioned for yourself.”

“I hadn’t envisioned anything,” Geralt managed, the absolute fucking liar.

There was the precipice, and Jaskier took a leap of faith. He felt stripped down and laid bare as he slowly rocked his hips into where Geralt was tight and sensitive, impossibly hot.

He took his time, pushed in again and again, Geralt’s legs wrapped around his back, urging him on, Geralt sighing into his neck.

“You're so good for me,” Jaskier said, not giving himself the time to second guess his words, and, “You're such a good person,” and, “I adore you.”

Geralt was finally listening, repeating the words silently to himself. "Right there," Geralt said. " _Fuck_ , right there -- harder."

He reached down and grabbed hold of Geralt's leg, pushing it closer to his chest so he could get further inside, driving in faster and rougher. He held still as Geralt came, ass tight on his cock, striping his own stomach, nearly bent in half as Jaskier kissed his jaw, his closed eyelids, his slick trembling lips.

It was only when Geralt's breathing had returned to normal and he blinked up at him, mouth parted in wondering surprise, that Jaskier started moving again. He didn't need much; he was almost there. 

It was hard to say what pushed him over the edge. Maybe it was the way Geralt was lightly skimming his calloused hands over his body or the look in his eyes, but Jaskier liked to think it was himself, finally letting go. Finally letting himself have what he'd wanted all along.

\---

Jaskier woke up alone. They had to stop this, Jaskier thought, dragging his sorry ass out of bed. He really despised early mornings, but he managed to gather his things and stuff them into his pack, shuffling around the room blearily. Geralt’s clothes and swords were gone, but Jaskier wasn’t really worried. Geralt had plenty of chances to cut and run, doubt he’d bother now.

He found Geralt outside at the stables, brushing down Roach, getting the horse ready for the long trip ahead. “I’ve tracked the monster, but it’s on the move -- already far away from here. I can follow it, but I’m not sure how long it’s going to take.” 

“I hate waking up alone.” He crossed his arms, watching.

Geralt wouldn’t look up at him, concentrating overly hard on the repetitive motions. He said, “You don’t have to come. The road is long and treacherous, and I don’t know where it’s going to end.” His shoulders were hunched, tense. Geralt was a man of few words, and even fewer of them tender, but that was okay. He showed his regard with actions and besides, Jaskier had enough words for them both. It was enough, Jaskier thought, that Geralt sometimes tried.

In this crux where two damaged men could make space in their scarred hearts for each other, could they make a home on the road? He’d left his easy life for something different, something he barely knew how to put a name to, and in Geralt, he’d found the adventure he was looking for. In Geralt, he’d maybe found his home.

Who knew what the future held anyway? Jaskier didn’t know, but he was willing to find out.

“Nah,” Jaskier said easily, “I want to see what happens.” He uncrossed his arms and slung his bag over Roach’s back, right next to Geralt’s. “Someone has to watch out for you while you’re watching out for everyone else.”

“I don’t mind being alone,” Geralt said, mounting his horse easily and turning toward the horizon. The sun was coming up, yellow and orange streaking across the sky.

“Of course you do, you’re a terrible liar,” Jaskier said. “You hate being alone and so do I, but neither of us has to be.” 

Geralt looked down at him, eyes warm. “Then let’s go,” he said and held his hand out.

Jaskier took it and swung up behind Geralt. “I should write a song about this.”

“Don’t.”

“Yeah, but--”

“No.”

“Oh, _fine_ ,” Jaskier huffed, holding on tight. They both knew he was going to do it anyway. He didn’t know why Geralt insisted on arguing about it every damn time, but he supposed the point was that they did it together. 

And away they went.


End file.
